


Unfold Me

by tendereye



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Canon Age Difference, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forced Proximity, Kinda, Older Man/Younger Woman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PR Director!Ben, Princess!Rey, Slow Burn, mention of Ben/Phasma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tendereye/pseuds/tendereye
Summary: "I’m trying to be nice!” She points an angry finger at him. “What would you have me do?”When he speaks his voice is low and quiet and rasping. “Just be good, Rey.”***Ben has been wrenched from his life in Hanna City and sent to his least favorite place on the planet to watch over a silly girl ten years his junior, who chases trouble like a greyhound after a rabbit, who looks at him like he hung the moon and whose mouth tastes like sugar.One summer. He only has to keep the princess in line for one summer. And avoid taking another one of her kisses.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 49
Kudos: 69





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I messed up and started writing my own reylo au prompt idea, but I haven't had this much fun or been this excited about writing fic in a long time. The tags will update as we go.

Even in _ his _ position, it is not every day that one meets with the Queen. 

No, for Benjamin Organa-Solo, most days are quite rote, even with the chaos of his job. Up before the sun. The news immediately—the brief from his overnight report, podcasts, anything relevant from CNN, BBC, ANN, The Chandrila Reporter. Gym, breakfast, and half a pot of coffee during his call on the way to the office. 

Then he steps foot in the palace, and the day truly begins. 

And no matter what happens, no matter how out of hand, no matter what story is on the verge of breaking, it is still a far cry from the every day to sit down to a meeting with the Queen. Rarer still, to be sitting in her personal parlor, with a cup of white tea. Spoonful of manuka honey. 

Part of him is thinking about the meeting he’s had to send Hux to on his behalf, the unread emails. His brain is one giant spreadsheet of dates and contacts and—

“Can we get you anything else, Mr. Organa-Solo?”

He gives her his best charm school smile: winning and genuflecting. “Please, ma’am. Please call me Ben.” 

“Benjamin,” she says, and he supposes that settles that, “you  _ know _ how we so value what you add to your work and our lives here.” 

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

She stares at him, stirring a sugar cube in her tea for much longer than it takes to melt. “We have been especially grateful for your dedication and...special care when it comes to our eldest daughter.” 

It is his life’s greatest achievement that he keeps his expression level. “Yes, ma’am.”

Another useless, silent stirring of her tea. “Frankly, Benjamin, I find that you’re about the only force that seems to have any effect quelling Rey’s rather...indomitable spirit.” 

If he is that force, he is a weak one. At best, he is a very good custodian, tidying up her messes, righting one issue as she searches for the next to create. He is the parent of a toddler, set loose with fistfuls of markers and acrylic paints. He lives in terror for his carpets and his walls. 

“As you well know,” she says, “Rey will be spending her summer at the research hospital on Ahch-To.” 

As he  _ well _ knows.

“I do not want to discourage Rey from any of her educational pursuits.” A slightly put upon sigh. “But this does present me with a problem.” Ben says nothing. “You see, our family has many friends and associates on Ahch-To. We’ve cottaged there for many years.” Yes, he knows. “Many people who would be happy to entertain Rey for a summer.” 

The way she says  _ entertain _ makes it evident that she means something else entirely. “Yes ma’am. I believe that the house and grounds have been prepared for her.” 

“What concerns us,” she says, as if he hadn’t spoken, “is the lack of oversight she will have. The very  _ last _ thing we need is a repeat of the yacht incident, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

It’s true. There can be  _ no _ repeat of Rey’s nineteenth birthday. 

The skin on the back of his neck has begun to prickle. He thought he might finally be getting the boot, or at least significantly reprimanded for the thing with the rapper. The thing that was not a 

_ thing _ thanks to Ben. But something...else, is happening here. His fingertips tingle around his mug.

“Benjamin,” she says, “you went to school on Ahch-To, didn’t you?” His mouth has gone dry so he can only nod. “We understand that this request is  _ well _ outside your duties, but with your familiarity with the island, and your natural ability with Rey…” 

She keeps talking. But there is blood rushing in his ears. It already sounds like the waves buffeting the rocks outside his old dorm room. 

  
  
  


It doesn’t really hit him until the jet is hovering over Ahch-To. 

Just two days ago, his only thoughts about the island had been relief. Shipping Rey off for ten weeks meant he might get ten weeks of relative peace. And Ahch-To of all places. A girl and an island who deserved each other. 

From this distance, Ahch-To is mostly green and gray, the water around it an enticing blue. Population: thirty-three thousand and change, swollen to fifty-some-odd thousand in the tourist season. 

And here he is. Among the swell. 

Rey sleeps across the aisle in a baby blue eye mask, underneath a matching cashmere blanket. She looks peaceful. She  _ always _ looks peaceful. Especially when she’s causing trouble for him. 

“Wake up.” 

He doesn’t raise his voice much, but it’s enough. She peels the mask back from one eye to peek at him. Her eyelashes are thick and black, blinking with old movie star drama. 

“Have we arrived already?” Her voice is raspier, throatier than usual. It annoys him. It annoys him more that he’s noticed.

He takes a beat. “Soon.” 

She makes a happy little noise and stretches her slim, tan limbs in every direction. She is remarkably uncoiffed, clearly banking on Ben to have ensured that there was no press for their landing. She is correct, of course. He watches her as she folds her blanket into a tight square and leans over to look out her window. 

“ _ So _ pretty, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t say anything. Nor does he speak as she continues chattering: the weather, the beach, her friends, her fellowship. The pilot announces their descent and she tosses him a grin, like they’re on some great adventure together. They idle on the tarmac and she _ keeps talking. _ All the way out of the jet and onto solid ground once again. 

They take a deep breath at the same time, a huff of fresh, warm air. 

“That is  _ delightful,  _ isn’t it?” Her smile is distilled sunshine. 

Ben frowns. “Smells like fish.” 

Rey has been going on for fifteen minutes by the time they slide into the back of the car and Ben signals for the driver to roll up the partition. 

She’s talking about her birthday, and how exciting it’s going to be when he wheels on her. Her pretty little eyes go wide as he leans into her space. 

“Listen and listen well.” Her pink mouth closes in a tight moue. “This is not a vacation. We’re not here to walk on the fucking beaches and throw barbeques. You’re going to attend your fellowship and I am going to do my job. The  _ only _ reason I am here with you is because you’re twenty-two years old and stupid enough to still need a babysitter.” 

Rey says nothing. She doesn’t even give him a warbling mouth or anything. She looks at him, her slender, manicured fingers tenting in her lap. It’s not so much that he wants her to cry, but he does want her to take his words to heart. He is not interested in pretending that this is anything other than what it is. 

He has been wrenched from his life in Hanna City and sent to his least favorite place on the planet to watch over a silly girl ten years his junior, who chases trouble like a greyhound after a rabbit, who looks at him like he hung the moon and whose  _ mouth tastes like sugar.  _

Ben looks away first. 

  
  
  


The unfortunate thing about Ben is that she often likes it when he is mean. 

He is one of few people who doesn’t treat her like a  _ princess _ . He speaks to her like anyone else, if she had to guess. Like nobody. He speaks to her parents like they are King and Queen, and her older brothers like princes and her younger sister like a princess. 

But Rey. He speaks to her as if she is the sort of person he is allowed to be mean to. 

He’s also hot when he’s all angry and brooding, but she won’t tell him that. 

They’d parted ways in the cottage. When she’d been told that Ben would be accompanying her to the island, she’d assumed he’d have his own residence. But that would clearly defeat the point of his “keeping an eye on her.” 

Rey is not so disconnected from reality that she doesn’t know that what her family calls a “cottage” is...different. It’s nine thousand square feet, not including a tennis court and swimming pool. It is so thoroughly appointed that while it's no palace, she will want for nothing. 

It will also make it possible that she and Ben might rarely have to see one another. The second they’d arrived, he was off to his rooms on the other side of the house and she was left to her own. She can remember the first time she met Ben. And then later, which she thought they might be friends. 

And now he can hardly stand to look at her. 

She texts some friends who are supposed to be summering on the island. Rose and Finn, who also never treat her like a princess, but she’s known them since before any of them could say the word. And besides, Finn will inherit a dukedom and Rose is the daughter of a diplomat. She’s seen more of the world than Rey has. 

Rey, who has scarcely seen anything beyond Chandrila and approved, fashionable places like the Seychelles or Maldives, where she meets the same people she spends time with in Hanna City or the countryside. Even this summer, this fellowship, is an indulgence. The cherry on top of a useless education for a useless girl who will never actually work a day in her life. 

She doesn’t even cry, when Ben doesn’t join her for dinner on the back terrace. The breeze and the birds (and the security detail, attempting to give her as much privacy as possible) are company enough. 

She doesn’t cry as she fumbles through another two chapters of her book. She doesn’t cry as she showers and shaves and strokes lotion into her skin. The waves of sadness always pass and by the time she’s slid into her pajamas and robe, it's hardened into resolve. 

The knife in the kitchen gleams brightly as she unwraps the pie and cuts a thick, healthy slice, and levers it onto a delicate china plate. 

She’d claimed the home’s one office for herself months ago during the preparation for the summer, so they’ve converted a bedroom into a temporary office for Ben. 

Funnily, it’s the one she used to stay in during her childhood summers. It’s all shades of dove gray, and eggshell. It makes him stand out more starkly—large and dark-haired. Mouth so lush and shockingly red.

She doesn’t knock, and she catches him (for the first time in a long time) wearing something other than one of his indecently tailored suits. The ones that make his long legs look longer. That makes the square of his shoulders more defined. 

Instead, he wears a soft-looking sweatshirt as he squints at his computer screen. Its garish blue light is balanced by the lamps in the room. He should put on his glasses, but when he flips his gaze up to her, she’s glad there’s nothing, not even thin lenses, between them. 

“Rey.” 

She can’t read that tone, but there’s no missing the way he looks at her. Skims against the swell of her modest breasts against the silk camisole, the way her legs stretch out from the matching shorts. 

“I brought you this.” 

She holds the pie out to him and ignores the little noise he makes as she crosses the room. She won’t go around to his side of the desk, so she leaves it on a stack of manila folders. 

“It’s chess pie. I asked for it when I thought you might…” 

His eyes soften fractionally. “My favorite.” 

“I know.” 

Frankly, she hates it. She hates the weird custardy texture with the slightly crispy, wrinkly top. But she remembers him saying that it was a favorite inherited from his American father, though Ben is so thorough Chandrilan, he was probably born with the flag on his ass. 

They had been at a Christmas party, and she’d been 17, in a dress that made her feel like a child. But his smile with her had been so friendly and unguarded as they’d stared together at a spread of desserts so diverse Rey had literally not been able to make a choice. 

“So many perfect options,” he’d told her. “And yet, my very favorite never makes the table.” 

She hadn’t been able to comprehend the idea that any dessert would not have been on that table. 

“Do you want me to ask the chef if—” 

He’d given her a look then, sweet, and exasperated, a little like he was laughing at her. But she hadn’t been offended. 

“No, Rey. Thank you, but no.” 

She’d thought they could be friends then. Hell. She’d thought they  _ were _ friends then. 

Now, he looks at her, a blend of flat exasperation and reluctant warmth. She doesn’t move so he just folds his hands politely on top of his desk. 

“Thank you for the pie.” The _ now get out _ is implied.

She ignores it and his nostrils flare. He may not talk to her like she’s a princess, but she knows there are few people who out-and-out ignore him. Not now, not that he’s—official title: Benjamin Organa-Solo, Chief Director, Communications and Public Relations for the Crown. 

“I never wanted to ruin your summer, and I’m sorry that you hate that you have to be here.” She fiddles nervously with the ends of her hair. “But I hope that it doesn’t have to be miserable.” 

Ben opens his mouth and closes it again, lips in a firm line. “It doesn’t. You will do your work. I will do mine. And in ten weeks' time, we will return home and everything can go back to normal.” 

She doesn’t  _ want _ normal. She wants him to eat his damn pie and smile at her, even if he is laughing a little. Anger burns bright in her gut, ugly and hot. 

“I got your stupid, disgusting pie and I’m trying to be nice!” She points an angry finger at him. “What would you have me do?” God, she’s screeching, she can hear it, but she can’t stop it. 

His lips move fast but silent, like maybe he’s not talking to her. “Goddamn it!” (She shouldn’t have yelled, not if he’s already at _ goddamn it _ .) “‘What would I have you do?’” He stretches the question out, all incredulousness. 

“Yes! Good for you, you can hear!” 

His nose scrunches before he gets a hold of himself and when he speaks his voice is low and quiet and rasping. “Just be good, Rey.” 

She’s brought up short, her heart pounding and her legs feeling liquidy. “I’m going to bed.” Immediately. She turns to leave but then he says: 

“Rey?” And he sounds positively  _ choked _ . She turns, arms crossed in her best impression of haughtiness. He’s looking back at his screen, like a dick. “Please be properly attired about the house. Impropriety can only hurt both of us. And good behavior begins at home.” 

She slams the door when she goes. 

But she definitely does not rush back to her room. And she definitely does not climb into her bed and put her hand between her legs. She definitely does not come to the thought of Ben's hands between her and the silk, telling her that she is  _ good _ . 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! As we move forward, I have clearly borrowed what I like from the British Royal Family, and have completely ignored other things! That will continue to be true! Please note the two new tags: alcohol and mention of Ben/Phasma.

Three Years Before   
  


She’s not going to cry. Not out of determination or anything so brave. She’s just tired. Much too tired. And though she knows it’s someone’s job to notice, she sits, for a long time, alone. And being alone makes the tears less likely to come, too. 

The sun paints sprays of green and red and gold where it streams through the stained glass. She sits toward the middle, hands folded in her lap, spine straight as an arrow. 

It’s hard to believe that just minutes ago, she’d been so happy, so excited, that she’d been  _ shaking _ . The lecture had been fascinating, the room full of girls as equally rapt as she had been. And since it was the first, and Rey’s first patronage, even her  _ mother  _ was in attendance. 

Rey had never felt something so close to pride. Especially as she chatted with Dr. Katana, her mother at her side. After a considering moment, Dr. Katana said, “You’re thinking of colleges, aren’t you? Harvard has an excellent pre-med program. Stamford. Rice, too.” 

It had taken Rey too long to realize the implication. That she thought  _ Rey  _ could be a doctor. A misstep on Dr. Katama’s part. Practicing medicine was clearly not in the future for Rey. A  _ profession _ was never going to be in her future and all three of them knew that. But then her mother had tittered, patted Rey’s head, and said, “Oh, no not this one, but tell us more about your time in Cape Town?” 

Rey knows she’s silly.

But she doesn’t like to be laughed at. 

She remembers smiling, making an excuse, and turning away. Walking fast until she came to the chapel. Empty. Quiet. Feeling too raw to text even Rose and Finn.

The door creaks. Oh,  _ shit _ , her mother come to say something. Or worse, her  _ father _ . She turns, to brace herself, and then does a double-take. 

Ben. 

His strides are slow but purposeful, his hands jammed in his pockets. A little bag from the gift shop is hooked around one freed pinky. It’s pale next to the crisp black of his suit. 

“Sorry,” she whispers immediately, struggling to shove her foot back into her heel. “I didn’t realize, I thought I was done for the—” 

“Relax,” Ben says,  _ much _ too loud for a church, even if they are the only two people in the room. His tone and his face don’t match. He sounds friendly enough, but his face is staid. “Can I sit?”

She crams her heel back into her shoe at the last second as he slides into the pew next to her. She’d never say so, but she’s started to notice that Ben smells  _ good _ . It’s not  _ just _ soap and it's not  _ just  _ cologne. 

But it is  _ really _ good. 

Rose knows more about him than Rey does. Rose knows more about everyone than everyone does. Their families run in similar circles and her sister Paige used to date a guy who went to Newton with Ben or something. 

The point is that she’s seen photos of Ben when he was sixteen, and he’s clearly always been handsome. He’s just handsomer now, at  _ twenty-six _ . More handsome than the boys she goes to school with. She can’t tell if he thinks he’s good-looking or not. You can  _ tell  _ with lots of guys when they know, but she’s not sure with Ben. She’s never sure with Ben. 

She only knows that he’s always had such a serious face. That he used to be skinnier with shorter hair. That now he smells really good, radiates heat like a furnace, and fusses all the time about schedules, and coordination, and rollout. 

She knows that sometimes when he’s close, her stomach aches and aches.  _ She  _ aches and aches. She knows that he has a girlfriend. Does he make her ache too?

“I thought you were enjoying Dr. Katana’s visit.” 

It takes Rey a second to come back to herself before she turns to him, eyes wide. “I was! I loved it! You don’t think I offended her, do you? I—” 

“ _ Relax. _ ” He stretches the syllables into two words. “You’re fine.” 

From the bag, he produces another, smaller bag. White and waxy. He holds it out to her and shakes it when she doesn’t take it right away. Inside are two perfectly golden , shiny crullers. 

“Where—?” But she doesn’t finish her sentence. They smell amazing. 

After a long time, Ben says, “What happened?”

She eats while she talks. And Ben just listens, unmoving. Just...listens to her. 

“And I know it doesn’t make sense or that it’s too early to say,” she went on. “It’s just, I think if I was a real person, maybe I  _ could _ go into medicine. It’s scary, yes, but, you’re  _ doing something.  _ Literally saving lives and I can’t imagine…” 

She trails off. He’s staring at her, looking more broody than before. She looks down at her blouse and feels around her mouth for crumbs. God,  _ embarrassing _ . But she’s clean and he’s still staring. 

“What?” 

His lip lifts a little. Not really a snarl, but a tick. “You are a real person, Rey.” Her  _ what _ is much quieter the second time. The doughnut sticks in her throat. “You  _ are _ a real person. Look what you made possible.” 

She shakes her head. “No. Money made all this possible.” 

His jaw moves in one direction and then the other, like he’s trying to rock it away from the top half of his skull. “No. Our team has been facilitating communications about all of this for the better part of a year.  _ You _ helped the Association put on this traveling lecture series, and it's my understanding that you advocated for additional funding so that more girls could be bused in from surrounding schools? Is that correct?” 

Her cheeks burn. He sounds very stern. “I just—” 

“Thanks to you,” Ben says with the authority of someone who rattles off facts and figures at the drop of a hat, “the association has already reached an additional twenty-two thousand girls. That’s twenty-two thousand young minds who have been exposed to some of the greatest leaders in STEM fields across Europe, and the Americas.” 

Her cheeks  _ hurt _ , she’s so red.

“Maybe you won’t ever be a doctor. But it would be crazy to pretend you don’t have money power and access, all of which you’ve used for a good cause. We all do what we can from where we are.” But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking down at his massive, folded hands. 

She clears the thickness from her throat. “What do you do?” 

He shakes his head, expression darkly wry. “Apparently I give pep talks to crying teenagers.” Like that, the tension dissipates and she laughs. 

“And...you give them presents?” Rey lifts her eyebrows, making a show of angling her eyes toward his bag. 

“The crullers weren’t enough?” he teases. 

From the bag, he produces a copy of Dr. Katana’s latest book,  _ A History of Chandrilan Medicine. _

Rey fixes her face fast. “Thank you, Ben, I appreciate it.” 

His mouth stretches all the way into a smirk. “I already know you have a copy. You couldn’t put it down. You walked into an actual wall while reading it.” 

They’re both laughing and Rey swats at him. “No, no, it was—” 

“—you’re right, it was a hedge.” When he’s pulled himself together, he says, “Open it.” 

Rey cracks it open. Oh. He’s had Dr. Katana sign it. There’s a very sweet note. Even  _ email _ so they can keep in touch! 

She looks up at him, her face split into a grin so big, she covers her mouth with her hand. “ _ Thank you. _ ”

All he does is shake his head again, but he’s smiling too. 

* * *

Ben has earned his run around the island. Or, he  _ deserves  _ his run around the island.

The sunlight bleeds pink and orange, lighting up the world at the edge of land and water. He still thinks he’s right—that it smells like fucking fish. But as his run brings him up touristy Main Street, he also smells hot bread out of the bakery with the best blueberry muffins in the world and coffee from a trendy cafe next door that hadn’t existed during his time at the Academy. 

There’s not much to see at this time of day. There are a couple of other runners out and he passes at least one person stumbling home in the previous night’s clothes with just-fucked hair. It’s kind of early in the season for that, but at least  _ someone _ is getting laid. 

_ Fuck, do not think about getting laid. _

It’s true—convenient, but true—that he never,  _ ever _ thought about Rey sexually before she was “legal.” He enjoyed her company, but even that makes him wince. Grown men do not  _ enjoy the company _ of teenage girls. But he had. She’d been a smart teenager who made him laugh, and who put up with a lot of shit just by virtue of her birth. 

He’d thought of her fondly, but distantly, like a...favorite cousin maybe. Except, not a cousin, because the way he thought about her  _ now _ was not familial. No, he’d woken up when it had still been full dark, hand already wrapped around his dick, and visions of her in those tiny pajamas in his mind. He had immediately stumbled into shorts and a tank, shoved his feet in his running shoes, stopped to piss, and then took off. 

Needs this run, he  _ needs  _ it. Because even after he’d kissed her pretty little mouth, he hadn’t beaten off to the idea of her. He doesn’t intend to start now. He just hasn’t had sex in...a while, that’s all. He suddenly, thoroughly, misses Phasma. One of his oldest friends, she knows when to knock his head against a wall and she fucks like it's the end of the world. Or, she had, when they'd been sleeping together. 

They’d met at university, and by the time they graduated he was one of the few people on the planet who was allowed to call her Gwen. He also called her a  _ conniving English upstart _ , but that made her laugh because she called Ben a  _ spoiled little prep school shit _ . She was smarter and more prepared than him in a lot of ways. More politically astute than he was, too. It had been her idea when he'd been angling for a promotion, that they be  _ seen _ together. 

The promotion (which he'd gotten, of course) put him in charge of comms strategy for both princesses. And Phas had said: "You need a girlfriend then." When he'd looked at her stupidly, she'd gone on: "You're twenty-five and male. You need to look like you're getting laid by an adult woman and, therefore, uninterested in jailbait pussy." 

It was hard to say if she'd been correct, but he couldn’t say she was  _ wrong _ . They were of a height— actually, Phas was taller in her heels and rarely without them—and within a few events, everyone kept saying what a  _ striking  _ couple they made.

But since they weren't actually interested in dating, the farce and the sex had to end at some point. But by then, he'd had the job and Phasma had been free to fall in love and hightail it off to New York.

Phas could always add meaningful perspective to his life, but he hadn't returned her last two or three emails and what was he supposed to say? 

_ Hey, Phasma, will you come back to Chandrila and have sex with me so I don't feel like a disgusting pervert because I really would like to rail the princess sleeping just feet away?  _

_ And, oh yeah, how's the wife and the dog? _

It’s not that Phasma is the only person he can have sex with. But she’s also the only person who would have sex with him  _ and _ give him meaningful advice. The only person who would just say, “do  _ not _ fuck the princess in the next room.” 

No matter how good she smells. Or how bad he wants it. 

Ben groans and adds another lap around the grounds to the eight miles he’s already done. 

After nine miles, he stumbles back home and collapses on the kitchen floor of the cottage. The chef gives him one arch look. 

“Can I make you something Mr. Organa-Solo?” 

With a heaving chest, he asks for egg whites, melon and a protein shake. He could get used to the private chef thing. He does have a chef who cooks, but it's more like a nice woman who preps a bunch of meals for him and leaves them in his fridge. He does a lot of reheating when he makes it home for food at all. 

His phone rings and with a tired hand, he answers. “Solo,” he says, as the music cuts on his Airpods. 

“Solo? Is Organa really too many additional syllables? We gave you a name, Benji,  _ my  _ name and we want you to be proud of it.” 

He pants some more and winces. “It’s barely seven am.” 

His mother repeats the words, a slightly mocking note in her voice, a poor parody of his baritone. “And you’ve been up for hours I’m sure. It sounds like you’ve run a marathon.” 

Not quite.

“I take it this isn’t a purely social call?” He huffs and puffs through the whole sentence, but he makes it. 

“Have I heard correctly that you’re summering on  _ Ahch-To? _ ” 

He swears with no sound.

Officially, no one wants to draw great attention to the fact that Rey is in need of such oversight during the summer. Or, that she’s living with a man. He has a property that is being paid for, but remains unused, in his name, receiving his forwarded mail. And if he is occasionally seen entering or exiting the summer residence of Princess Rey, surely it would be on Crown business. After all, he’s been seen in the company of the royal family many times. 

But he hadn’t thought news of his summer “plans'' would travel so fast. But if anyone would know, it’s his mother. Leia Organa—it's a little unfair that each of his parents kept their names, and he got saddled with both—has her ear to the ground. Spies in every corner of Chandrila and beyond.

Technically a marchioness, since she had inherited the rare march that can pass through matriarchy, she mostly manages land via proxy. Instead of carrying on with tradition, she married a wild American man and took up politics and rabble-rousing. The only reason she’s not completely ousted from the silver-spoon set is her undeniable charm and wit. 

“Yes,” he manages.

“Well, while you’re there, I  _ know _ your uncle would want a visit.” 

Ben frowns. Straight to the point, his mother. He can hear his eggs hitting the pan. “I’m sure he would. That makes one of us.” 

“If nothing else, you could give a lecture to the students! You’ve gone on to be so successful.” 

“It’s  _ summer _ .” 

“A lot of them stay on!” 

He rolls his eyes. “I have to go.” 

“But I  _ know _ Luke would want to see you.” 

Ben is far too tired to get really angry, but he tries. “Then he can call me himself. Goodbye.”

He will absolutely pay seven different kinds of hell for it, but he hangs up before she can say anything else. Uncle Luke is not the best topic of conversation. Almost anything would be better. He’d rather talk about the origins of drywall than his uncle. 

He hears her shoes, but only seconds before she enters the room. Rey walks into the room, her lovely hair bouncing and her hips swaying. Before he knows what’s happened, she’s standing over him, feet bracketing his thighs. 

“Good morning, Mr. Organa-Solo.” 

He will never admit it, but he  _ likes it _ when she calls him mister. “Good morning.” 

“You could at least  _ pretend _ at decorum. In front of poor Mitaka.” 

She gestures at the chef who says absolutely nothing, but Ben hears a clatter of plates. She steps over him, her heel grazing so near his ear that he’s glad he ran for so long. Too tired to get hard even. Good. 

“Ma’am.” There’s a note of panic in Mitaka’s voice. “We have a place set for you in the dining room if you—” 

I’d rather take my breakfast in here. And Mitaka,  _ please _ just call me Rey. I’m the only member of the family in residence this summer, and I insist.” 

“I—yes, ma’am.” 

Rey sighs. 

Ben peels himself off the floor to find her seated at the kitchen’s island, digging into an omelet, with a side of potatoes, a bowl of fruit and yogurt, and a truly giant cup of milky coffee. He wants to ask her where she puts it when Mitaka slides his food into the place next to hers. 

It would be weird to move it. That would be  _ weird _ . 

He climbs gingerly onto the stool and gives her a once-over. “This is a good outfit.” 

The looks she gives him could cut glass. “Thanks.” 

Sometimes, he gets it in his mind to spin her as a style maven. It would play well with her key demographic, women and girls, ages thirteen to forty. He wants to ask her if she styled it herself, but he can tell she’s nervous, the way she picks at her food. Well, picks for Rey, meaning she plows through half and eats the rest more slowly. 

“You ready?”

“Yes,” she says, an edge of annoyance creeping into her tone. Ben knows it well. 

“I’ll be watching the broadcast of your arrival.” 

Her head whips around. “Is that a threat?” 

“ _ No, _ ” he says, his fork hovering in the air. “Just like we would at home.” 

It’s the kind of thing that is below Ben’s pay grade, once again, but well, what is the entire arrangement if not glorified babysitting? 

  
  
  


Rey breezes through the press run on her way in the hospital. The questions are so predictable and probably approved by Ben’s staff, if not Ben himself. She’s supposed to be left alone this summer, an agreement between the Chandrilan media and the Palace, that paparazzi shouldn’t interfere with her education or that of any of her siblings. Only pre-scheduled interviews and appearances. And this is no different: 

_ Can you tell us more about your fellowship? _

_ Why have you taken the hospital on as a second patronage? _

_ Are you excited to be an aunt again? _

The only time she’d stumbled was when someone had asked her about “nightlife” on the island and insinuated that she would be enjoying it. They were absolutely correct, but she was  _ certain _ that sort of question had not been on the list of approved media questions. She’d managed an answer about having friends she wanted to catch up with, but focusing on her fellowship before she made her way inside. 

Rey is pretty sure that person is going to be out of a job soon. 

She was greeted by hospital leadership, which was more than she felt she was owed, but it was necessary for the ensuing photo ops, especially since she’s taken on Ahch-To General Hospital and Research Facility as a second patronage. The first had been the Association on Education for Women and Girls. She’d been young to decide on a first patronage, but she was passionate about their work, and it had been an excellent strategic choice, according to Ben. 

Finally,  _ finally _ , the photographers recede and most of the team has to go back to work and Rey can spend some time with her fellowship advisor. 

"Dr. Katana!" 

Dr. Katana is the same as she remembers. Impossibly diminutive, wrinkled brown skin, huge, owlish glasses, and a mischievous grin. 

"Your Highness," Dr. Katana says, stretching out her hands. 

Rey squeaks and insists there will be none of that. She goes on for so long that everyone laughs and they've all insisted that she'll be "Rey" from now on. 

The truth is, Rey won't need to spend  _ that _ much time in the hospital. She's just looking at old records. She'll spend as much time in the library and trawling other historical locations on the island. Even so, the older woman leads her to the office space they’ll be sharing with a couple of Dr. Katana’s research associates. 

There aren't many medical anthropologists in the world. That special blend of medical knowledge and sociological curiosity was rare but Rey had been so inspired by Dr. Katana’s work, that it shaped her entire academic career.

Anthropology had been an inoffensive enough degree to get away with at university, though her parents would have probably preferred Art History or even English. There was a specificity to anthropology that had given them pause, but not enough to force her to go in a different direction. 

“You know,” Dr. Katana says, showing Rey to a small desk tucked into the corner of the room, “if I’m going to call you Rey, you must call me Maz.” 

Rey laughs. “I’ll  _ try _ .” 

Dr. Katana’s associates are currently out of the office, but that gives Rey time to try to tamp down her giddiness with only the doctor to see. She’s never been part of a team like this before, she’s never really gotten to work with others. 

The desk is already heaped with files and folders and background information to read to bring her up to speed, but even that makes her delighted. She turns to Dr. Katana who gives her a squeeze on the shoulder. 

“Welcome to the team.” 

  
  


Rey is practically floating on her way out of the hospital a few hours later. “Sorry,” she says to her bodyguard, Vicrul, as they slide into the waiting car. “I can’t imagine how dreadfully boring all of that was for you.” 

Vicrul is new to her, previously on her father’s detail, and Ben trusts him very much, so she suspects he might be another set of eyes. 

“No, ma’am,” Vicrul says with a little smile, and Rey snorts. 

Neither of them say anything on the way to Rose’s house. It’s directly on the beach, two lofty bright stories, baking in the sunlight and utterly outshone by the woman who lives there. Rose is beautiful, skin flush and hair shining with her arms thrown wide open in the entryway to the house. 

Rey can't help the squeal as they hug and from the couch, Finn hollers, "banshees!” without looking up from his phone. Rey practically divebombs him and steals his—a sip to tell—Moscow mule. 

“Hey!” Finn gives her a friendly pop on the ass with the flat of his hand. To retaliate, she stays in place, draped over his lap and taking his drink down in unladylike swallows. 

“I missed you, idiots,” Rose says, handing them both a fresh cup. 

“We haven’t been together since  _ Christmas _ ,” Rey wails with drama. “Tell me everything. Who else is here for the summer?” 

“Everyone,” Rose says, waving a hand in the air. “But plenty of people will be here tonight, so you can see for yourself.” 

God, the last of Finn’s drink was already going to her head. “Hmmm, but I can’t stay too late, I have to be up early tomorrow.” 

“Not me,” Finn announces. “I am going to enjoy my last summer of freedom.”

Rey turns to him. “It won’t be so awful. You’re  _ ready _ to take on more responsibility.” 

Finn says nothing but pointedly drains his cup, and tips hers towards her mouth. It could be the flush from the drink, but the warmth of their company would be enough. They are her truest home. Always welcoming, always loving, no matter her errors. 

Her many, many errors. 

Rey finishes her drink and has another while Rose tells the story of a terrible date. Friends trickle in and music comes on and she thinks she’s on drink number four when she finally glances at her phone and sees two missed calls. 

Ben. 

It’s not terribly late, so she’s surprised when it buzzes again in her hand. 

“Hel-hello?” 

“Where the fuck are you?” 

Rey’s brow furrows. “Don’t be an asshole.” 

She’s a little concerned by the even-keel of his tone. That’s Ben on a mission, Ben who is about to knock someone’s head off, Ben who is about to make someone regret that they were  _ born _ . 

“Where. Are you?”

“I’m at Rose’s place, what’s wrong?” 

“You need to come home.” And when he speaks again, her heart beats hard in her chest, her stomach roils with heat. He says, “We need to discuss your  _ naked photos _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben is not happy.   
> Have I mentioned that I'm having a lot of fun with this fic?  
> (our tags are going to get...interesting next chapter...)
> 
> I'm on Twitter at [@itstendereye](https://twitter.com/itstendereye), come say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> This author happens to like [chess pie](https://www.southernliving.com/recipes/classic-chess-pie) very much.
> 
> I'm quietly on Twitter at [@itstendereye](https://twitter.com/itstendereye).


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